Knits and Pearls

This sweater is old.
It’s an odd mottle of colors, like the dollops of paint my son swirls around and around.
It’s Kraft-cheese stripes are an accidental hybrid of funk and tang.
It’s exactly as frayed as it ought to be.

This sweater has been places.
I bought it, cheap, on the beach in France. Hundreds of flip-flopped tourists.
I was the cold one.
When I slip my arms through, I hear the wailing wind as it leaps from the Cliffs of Moher.
The whispers in the Sistine Chapel.
The sizzle of frying calamari at that tapas bar in Madrid.

This sweater reminds me.
My mom. Rocking, rocking. The worn springs strumming a lullaby — woom, woom, woom.
My forehead burrowed in the brown-sugar knits and purls of the sweater she wore, always.
The one that smells like her. Like buttercups and post-its and cherry tomatoes and safety.
It’s exactly as frayed as it ought to be.

This sweater will remind them.
I hold them. I listen to their tales: timeouts, worksheets, noodle soup, ladybugs.
I drink them in. Their longness and leanness. The freckle on her shoulder. His eyelashes.
My God, his eyelashes.
Their synapses churn out data, imprinting this, all of this, onto the endless RAM of childhood.
They will remember.
I hope they will remember.

This sweater is old.
This sweater has been places.
This sweater is time, memory, instinct, life.
It’s exactly as frayed as it ought to be.

Related

Perfection. The sweater has a life of its own it seems. There ARE articles of clothing that I relate to my childhood, my budding teenage years, my angsty twenties. These clothes- they matter. These memories that you shared are sweet. Your words- clear.

Do you write like this all the time? Inspiring and gorgeous. I love the idea that things other than us hold memories- which is why I hate throwing things away that have memories to me. Which drives my clutter-free husband crazy. And I like the sweater!

God you blow me away with your writing every single time. The imagery, the feeling you evoke is all so tangible.

I have many articles of clothing that do the same for me – but that’s my “thing”. Whenever I visit someplace I get a t-shirt or something so that I can be reminded of the time spent there – good times, traveling times. I have a favorite fleece. It’s the color of pea soup – ugly as can be – but damn, I’m going to be so bummed when that thing wears out.